Death and the Wretched
by Nightshade22
Summary: death laments the meaning of existance with a young paranormal detective...also written as a fanfic for anne rice.


The ice melted in her glass, dissolving back into water, pure and crystal clear. She held it by the rim and stirred it slowly, watching the small cubes clink against each other. The man at the bar was watching her, she felt his eyes on her from the moment she stepped in the restaurant.

She knew that he was one of them, and that he had followed her a good many miles to be here...at such close proximity with her now. She sighed mournfully, tilting the glass over her lips and draining it slowly, her eyes half closed.

She heard them now, so close, so near...anxiously clawing at the doors, unable to get in. She set the glass back down on the table and brushed away the ashes she left from her last cigarette.

It was time.

The calls were growing insistent and she slowly drew out a thin steel rod from underneathe her black coat. She looked up at the man and he tensed quickly. She almost laughed. It was his first time probably, they should never send a novice.

Didnt they learn that before? Infact, had thy not learned anything? Why send anyone at all?

She let it play with his mind a bit, toying with the rod in her hand a little longer, her fingers brushing against the engraved symbols on it, letting it catch the harsh neon lights that advertised beer at the bar.

Reality is a son of a bitch, isnt it? She asked to no one in particular, making an old biddy with smudged eyeliner look up at her from her drink. She smiled sadly at the old woman who in turn sneered at her and continued her lament over the rim of her beer glass.

The man was on his feet now and was about to take a step in her direction when she stood up.

She took hold of the rod at both end and tugged, it lenghtened till it went up over her head. The man stopped short and raised a hand to his brow, the sweat dripping down his neck, the blood draining from his face.

She watched him warily as she slid her hand down the lenght of the rod, letting her head rest on it for a few seconds. Wasnt this what he...well..they wanted to see? The obvious cliche of the moment striking her.

Then she pulled the hood of her coat up till it covered her face save the tip of her nose and chin. A few people did a double take at her, but heeded her no mind. That was what she loved about mortals. Nothing is ever unusual to them anymore.

Then she raised the rod up higher abover her head and let it crash down onto the floor with a sickening crunch, a large curved blade erupted out the tip, startling most of the people in the room now.

All eyes were on her. And she sensed the instinct of recognition in each of them as she made her way forward, her Scythe glinting menacingly beside her.

It was like a hazy, grainy film played in slow motion as she felt the sense of all time fall back, watched the eyes rivet away from her, the effects of the moment ebbing away from the peoples memories.

And then the shrieks came, full force, so out of place from the still life around her, people as still life, waiters in midserve, smoke caught in midcurl as it rose from a grimy ashtray...

It was the sound of anticipation, the sound she heard so many times before, and would hear many times after this. It grew louder with each step she took.

Then she stopped in front of a little booth filled with ballons and children in mid cheer. She gazed at the cake in the middle, and at the frozen flames that did not flicker, at the obviously proud parents mouths open and hands pressed to their chests in happy exaultation...and finally she let her eyes rest on the little girl before her.

Candice. It was her ninth birthday.

And her last.

"I will make it quick for you sweetie." She murmured under her breath.

She let the moment etch itself into her memory, like each of the moments did. Ignoring the crisendo of screams and wails that racked the small pub. Then she looked behind her, at the man, frozen and staring, at her...they were good these men. She made her way to him slowly.

"I know you can hear me. Not alot of people can. But your special, arent you?" She whispered in his ear. She smoothed his tie with one hand then laid her head on his chest. His heart did not beat.

"Amore, God and the Devil has tried to stop me. Man has tried to cure me away. But in the end, i belong to no one. I am infinite yet born of nothing."

Then she looked up into his eyes, and saw it flicker with panic. Yes. A novice, but a strong one. She patted his chest before leaving his side.

She chose this moment for the girl Candice, cutting it perfectly like a movie film. She will not have any memory of anything past this point of happiness. Past these happy colors and faces...it will stay like this, and she will leave with the smile fresh on her lips. She brushed back a curl of brown hair from the girls face and then took a step back.

"Acta est Fabula, plaudite!" She hissed under her breath as she rose the Scythe above her, the screams deafening now. She brought it down on the girl and thats when time returned to normal. But it was awakened not the by howling of the souls outside. But by the screams of a mother hugging her child to her chest.

"No! No! No!"

The man blinked and looked around the room, his head whipping back and forth like mad. How? Why? It all happened so fast, and yet he heard her. He actually heard her in his head. She had spoken to him! He was jarred from his thoughts as a couple of waiters rushed past him, running towards the girls body.

"What happened?" He heard them ask, heard the children screaming and whimpering, heard glasses breaking and a lady screaming.

Thats when he saw her. Out of the corner of his eye, a silhouette in the darkness, heading out of the pub doors.

He ran out to stop her but was greeted only by a blast of cold air and the shock of it on his heated skin. In the distance he heard the wails of an ambulance, and from behind him the chaos of the pub where a little girl had slumped dead before her birthday spread.

He raised a hand to his throat.

Tonight he had seen death. Stared her in the eye, and the play ended...and indeed there was applause. For it is she that cuts the strings of the puppets, she that ends the acts...and the rest is drowned by the roar of the crowd...

Death stood beneath an archway, heard the same sirens and felt the same cold. She knew he would find her again. And she would wait...either way, she would see him again.


End file.
